Forever: A Captain America Love Story
by swaggedoutkidd
Summary: Steve Rogers touched many hearts with his valor, on and off the battlefield before he disappeared. Peggy Carter lost more than a first kiss. James "Bucky" Barnes lost more than a best friend. Gabe Jones lost more than a squad leader. When he awakes in a new millennium, Steve realizes what he's lost...and takes great lengths to reclaim it. (Rated T for now, but may become M later)
1. 1944: Death Takes a Holiday

**Author's Note: Apologies to my followers and readers! I developed a major case of writer's block after posting the first two chapters a month ago, and could not salvage the plot from those original chapters for my life! So I decided to rewrite the story. Hope you enjoy the rewrite.**

**Please review and let me know what you think.**

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**1944: Death Takes a Holiday**

He lay on the numbing, powdery snow, unable to move beyond the blinking of his cobalt blue eyes and the agonized rise and fall of his chest. Confined by his own body, Captain James Buchanan Barnes twitched his mouth into the grimace of a smile.

_'I'm really done for this time. Heh, Steve's not gonna take too kindly if I kick the bucket without much of a fight.'_

Bucky, as he was known to friends, family, and fellow fighters, had fallen more than four hundred feet from a speeding train. He, Captain Steve Rogers (better known as Captain America), and Private Gabe Jones had ziplined onto the train in an attempt to impede the Red Skull. The Red Skull's minions had attacked them upon boarding, and secluded from Private Jones, Bucky and Steve had faced half a dozen of the Red Skull's minions.

Bucky had lost his battle and been blasted out of the side of the train. He still saw the terrified expression in Steve's eyes as the former puny teen had failed to reach him before Bucky tumbled to the floor of the snow-covered valley.

_'Steve probably thinks I'm dead as it is. I'm supposed to be the strong one. I'm supposed to protect him. The one time I needed his help—make that the second time—he failed me. Steve can't handle that. I've got to fight this. I've got to fight death.'_****

The brunet struggled to sit upright. Every muscle in his upper body and a few of the bones as well screamed in excruciating pain. His ribs—fractured or broken, there was no discernible difference—scraped and jabbed the sensitive organs they were meant to protect. His mouth, already bloodied from the loss of several molars, gushed blood on the front of his olive-colored fatigues as his stomach declared its damage. Bucky's splayed arms and legs ignored his brain's commands to flex or even twitch.

_'Geez, God, could I at least die like a soldier? Why can't I die in the midst of battle, rather than on so icy peak with my arms and legs handicapped?'_

Bucky, determined to capture as much of the world as he could in his last minutes, turned his head to the right. It would be only minutes, perhaps hours, before his injuries or the mounting cold claimed him.

He spotted the beady black eyes before he heard the soft, stealthy paws striding on the snow. Bucky wasn't surprised by the snow fox. His senses, although dulled by his body's gradual shutdown, were still attuned to his surroundings from months of combat training and on the field experience.

_'Jones wouldn't have let that fox creep up on him. Jones would drop that bastard where it stood, skin it alive, and wear it as a hat to escape. Carter might make some gloves and boots from it. Broad's as tough as a box of nails,' _Bucky reflected resentfully. He studied the fox's movements. The hunter cautiously sniffed the cold air while it hesitated beside the fast-flowing creek that separated them.

The thought of Major Peggy Carter traipsing through the frozen woods made Captain Barnes laugh sorely. Stabbing pains radiated through his rib cage, and another spray of blood spurted from his mouth. Bucky's chest agonizingly seized up. He scrunched his eyes shut against the pain.

When he opened them, the white fox was gingerly crossing the stream.

_'Geez, God, cut me a break here! Just let me die from the fall, I don't want be this bastard's lunch! Can't I at least have that?'_

The fox completed its crossing and cautiously approached him. _'Apparently I can't.'_

Bucky's effort to flail his arms and legs failed, as his limbs remained motionless. His dry, raw throat rasped when he tried to yell, and another glob of blood erupted from his throat. _'I guess if this fox doesn't kill me, I'll die from blood loss.'_

The fox stopped just inches from the soldiers' throat and sniffed his body. It decisively detected a meal, because it bared its sharp, meat-ripping incisors. Bucky closed his eyes and awaited the savage bite that would extinguish his young life.

Chopper blades sliced rapidly through the air. Bucky opened his eyes and peered into the sky as a dark gray helicopter sped through the air above him. The fox was paralyzed with uncertainty. When the chopper turned and headed back to the soldier's location, the hunter bolted.

A round of machine gun bullets ripped through the snow. Bucky winced in anticipation of the new, more gruesome method of his execution. Somewhere near him, the dead fox flumped softly into the white powder blanketing the landscape. Bucky opened his eyes in awe.

_'Oh God, I'm still alive! I'm still alive! Thank you, thank you!'_ He beamed as he heard the chopper land a few yards away. Bucky had to strain his neck to see the doors of the helicopter slide open. _'Steve came through! Just like before, my buddy won't let me die!'_

Two men in dark gray cotton jumpsuits and dark gray wool caps exited the chopper. Both were bulky men with an imposing combination of height, physique, and cold-hearted swagger that made the American soldier want to cower. Neither of them was familiar to Bucky.

They loomed over Bucky as if to pick him up. _'As least they're here to save…'_ Bucky's thoughts stopped as a cold metallic pressure against his neck signaled his passage into unconsciousness.


	2. 1950: An American Soldier in London

**Author's Note: I originally wrote a chapter where Bucky suddenly appeared in 1949 London and went to Peggy's house. Then I realized that was super dumb. Who wakes up five years after they "died" and knows exactly where they are? So here's a re-written second chapter. Please review and let me know what you think.**

**Thanks to CreamsTheDream, DigitalDreamn, Wordsmith94, and macariadaughterofhades for following! You guys have motivated me to keep this story going and chapter 3 will be posted this Thursday.**

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**1950: An American Soldier in London**

_'Strapped to the bare, chilled metal gurney face-up, Bucky couldn't move while the gurney passed down a dark hallway lined with overhead lights…._

_'"Captain Barnes, you're a perfect test subject for our serum," announced a cold, heavily accented voice from within the darkness…._

_'Bucky's screams made the man with the accent laugh maliciously. Pain wracked his body, symptomatic of rapid changes in his bone structure, height, and musculature…._

_'"Perfect," announced the man. Bucky hated the way he gazed over the American's nude body. His colleagues nodded and jotted notes on his clipboard. "You are absolutely perfect."_

Bucky jolted awake. In the few seconds he took to survey his surroundings, the American realized he was in a cab in an urban area. Heavy traffic entangled his cab. "Where the hell am I?"

He struggled to sit up. "Greetings, old chap! You must have had some roaring good fun last night, eh?" The cab driver, a weathered old man with a ruddy, jowly face and large nose, winked cheekily at him over the seat.

Bucky stared at him blankly. "Where am I?"

"You must have had quite a night to forget where you live!" the old man chuckled.

Bucky lunged forward with his hands placed menacingly on either side of the driver. "When I passed out, I was laying in the snow, dying from a fall. Now I'm in a city, and I have no idea how I got here. So just tell me where I am!"

The old man cowered in Bucky's threatening presence. "Y-you're in L-London, sir. W-we're in Trafalgar Square. P-please d-don't h-hurt me. I've got a w-wife and three children, three g-grandchildren."

He had never frightened anyone, even the bullies who plagued Steve like ants at a picnic, in his entire life. Bucky pulled back his hand and reached for his wallet to pay his fare. "Mister, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" Bucky paused as he realized three things at once.

The cab driver said he was in London, England.

His wallet was a lot thicker than normal.

Bucky's hand was larger, more vascular, and more hairy than he had seen before.

Before Bucky could utter a word, the old man thrust his tattered brown leather wallet at Bucky's head. "H-here, t-take it! Take all of it, it's all yours!"

"Sir, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not trying to rob you. I'm…." He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror as he struggled to apologize.

His skin, hair, and face looked basically the same: chocolate brown eyes above sloped cheekbones that produced stunning dimples, set into a heart-shaped face and topped by a mop of chocolate-colored wavy hair. But there was a chisel to his face that Bucky never had seen in his mirror before. His neck had thickened, and even in the mirror's slim view, he discerned his broader shoulders and more muscular chest wrapped inside an olive green jumpsuit, similar to what a janitor would wear. A hairy thatch poked from his chest through the unzipped V-neck expanse of the janitor's suit just below his throat. His entire body was sanguine with the blood coursing beneath his skin to the larger, more powerful muscles.

_'What the hell happened to me? I look just like Steve did after they shot him up with that serum.'_ Bucky's train of thought was derailed as the taxi driver bolted from the cab. He opened the door and hopped out. "Hey, wait a minute!"

"Help, someone help me! Please! He's trying to rob me!" the old man yelled. He sprinted down the street into a restaurant with a packed sidewalk area.

An incredulous crowd approached the cab, and Bucky stopped in his tracks. He remembered enduring accusations and stares like theirs when he was a child in Brooklyn. Steve was the golden-haired angel who every store owner and housewife adored. Bucky was the miscreant and culprit behind every underhanded act in Little Italy.

Bucky knew how to handle a situation like that.

He jumped out the cab and ran.

Cars and buses throughout Trafalgar Square stopped to allow passage to the frantic American in the olive jumpsuit. A whistle blew shrilly behind him. With a glance backward, Bucky spotted the billy club-wielding police officer give chase to him. _'Just like when I was a kid, and all I wanted to know was how I ended up in London!'_

He dashed into the street to evade the officer. London traffic was merciful to him and not different from the New York City traffic, except the British drove on opposite sides of the road and employed more colorful curse words. As the officer was a lean distance behind him, Bucky hopped onto the sidewalk and tipped over a grocer's cart with one hand. _'Man, I'm stronger than I thought!'_

While the officer was entangled with the strewn about vegetables, Bucky continued to run at a full sprint. He didn't stop until he heard an unsettling flip-flop sound with each step. One glance at his black, polished leather boots, and Bucky knew he needed to replace them before he walked or ran any further. The rubber soles had separated from the steel-toed uppers. _'There's no way I'm running another step in these shoes.'_

The American surveyed his surroundings. He stood on a sidewalk in a posh part of London, as he judged by the way the passing pedestrians dressed. Store windows colorfully advertised products ranging from books to appliances to what Bucky desired most at the moment: clothes and shoes.

An almost inaudible rumble of thunder was the only thing that preceded a sudden downpour of glacial rain. Several women on the sidewalk shrieked and sprinted for shelter. "Geez, can't you give a guy a break?" Bucky demanded of the sky and slapped his beefy hands against his sodden pants. The brunet darted for the nearest clothier.

He realized he was out of his element when the bell jangled over the door to announce his presence. Bucky never had seen such an upscale store in such a small space before. A polished wooden counter on the left side of the store loomed imperiously over the merchandise along the right wall. The doors at the back of the store led to what Bucky presumed were a dressing room and a separate bathroom. A pinched-looking elderly man with thinning white hair waited behind the counter at an antique brass register and gazed condescendingly at the American over a pair of square emerald-colored spectacles.

"How may I be of service to you, sir?"

"I need some shoes and some clothes."

"For what sort of occasion, sir?"

"Just normal clothes, every day clothes, if you got them."

"I see." The elderly man haughtily scanned Bucky's rain-soaked jumpsuit-clad body. "Sir, I hope you understand that you have wandered into an haute couture clothier. We do not sell 'everyday' clothes, unless you are accustomed to dressing as a gentleman."

Bucky slapped his hands against his legs in frustration and felt a hard lump pressed against his right thigh. He reached into an opening in the simple jumpsuit near his waist, pulled out a brown leather wallet, and opened it to find several hundred crisp pounds inside it.

The elderly man cleared his throat. Bucky glanced up and caught the cashier gawking at the bills on display within his wallet. "I suppose you fit the description of our routine customers. Follow me, sir, and I will transform you into an impeccably dressed man."

Two hours and 198 British pounds later, Bucky Barnes stood before an antique full-length mirror in the clothier, nattily attired in a form-fitting gray pinstripe suit, charcoal gray bowler, and charcoal-and-ivory spats. Four other suits, pressed and folded, awaited the soldier in a lambskin bag that rested in an opulent red velvet armchair behind him.

_'I look like a younger, better-looking version of Jim in this bowler,'_ he thought while examining himself from several angles. _'The guy knows his stuff though.'_

"Is there anything else I can do for you today, sir?" the cashier asked obsequiously. Since Bucky had shelled out hundreds of dollars, the aged man practically foamed over the soldier.

Bucky turned to him with a smug smile. "Do you have a phone I could use?"

"Certainly, young man, there is one at the end of the counter." The old man shuffled back to his post and studied Bucky as the young American dialed with the rotary phone.

"Good afternoon," greeted a woman's cool, pleasant voice, "how may I assist you today?"

"Could you connect me to Major Peggy Carter of the British Royal Army?"

There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the connection. "I do not have a listing for Major Carter. However, there is a listing in Kensington district for General Harry and Peggy Carter Thomas?"

_'Peggy got married to another soldier? There's no way Steve took that lying down. What happened?'_ Sweat erupted all over Bucky's skin. "Um, connect me to that number."

There was another pause while the connection was made and then the ringing of the phone. Bucky's eyes roved the store for some explanation, and found it on the wall behind the old man. A calendar encouraged customers to contribute to the wartime effort, but the date on it heralded August 1950. Bucky nearly dropped the receiver, just as Peggy's voice spoke. "H-Hello?"

"Who is this?" Peggy demanded.

"Peggy? It's-It's Bucky Barnes, from the One Hundred and Ninth."

"I don't know who you are, but what are you playing at? Bucky Barnes has been dead for over six years."

"I'm not playing at anything." Bucky smiled irrepressibly as he recalled something sure to keep her from hanging up. "What were you playing at when you asked Steve to dance with you?"

"What?"

"The night in the bar, after we had taken out that Hydra station in south Norway, you came in dressed to kill in that red dress. Looked like a real dame too, and took everyone's breath away."

"If you're trying to prove something to me…"

"Steve said that you looked ready to dance, remember that? And you told him that you didn't have the right partner yet."

"That doesn't prove…"

Bucky plowed ahead, undeterred. "I gave Steve the pocket watch with your picture in it. Stole your picture from your Army file in Headquarters and put it in Steve's watch. Did he ever tell you that? I did the same thing with Steve's picture in that locket I gave him to give you. Did he give it to you?"

"Yes, he did, just before you disappeared. He said he heard that I was uncomfortable with my picture in his watch. So he gave me a locket with his picture to make us even. Bucky?" Peggy breathed.

"It's me, Major Carter."

"Where have you been all these years?"

"I-I'm not sure."

Peggy rattled off an address. "Meet me there, it's my home." She repeated the house number and street name before ending the call.


	3. The Lady and the Tramp

**Author's Note: Thanks to my new followers TheGreekGods and SolarFlare Prime for coming aboard! And a special thanks to macaradaughterofhades because I made an error in the previous chapter that needed to be corrected. Hope you guys enjoy, and as it is Labor Day weekend, I'm hoping to get chapter 4 up tomorrow. I apologize for being tardy with this posting.**

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Less than twenty minutes later, Bucky stood on the front stoop of a four-story, posh mid-Victorian high rise in London's Kensington district. Everything about the residence bespoke of the owners' wealth: Tulips bloomed lavishly in the window box beneath the bay window; the grass in the gated front yard was immaculately trimmed; and the steely gray Morris Oxford seemed to be a late-produced model. In fact, all the houses around had the mark of well-endowed elegance and taste upon them.

_'I guess the Nazis didn't destroy too much of this place. Then again, they probably took those bombings with a stiff British upper lip.'_ Bucky rapped on the green front door with the gold horsehead knocker.

The lock tumbled and the door opened to a much different Major Peggy Carter than Bucky had known five years earlier. After all, she was Peggy Carter Thomas now.

During wartime, Peggy Carter was a voluptuous, take-no-prisoners type of woman. Many of the lonely soldiers in the 107th had fantasized about her curves at night in their tents. Bucky and the other men had watched her flirtatious relationship with Steve play out, all vying for the super soldier's place in her repressed affections. With her luxuriant chestnut tresses, smoldering brown eyes, creamy skin, and vivid red lips, Peggy Carter's face matched her body in every respect. In addition to her physical beauty, Peggy was audacious, vivacious, and always immaculate in her appearance.

The woman who stood before Bucky was not far from the same. She possessed the same spirit in her smoldering brown eyes. But her hair was tied back with a red-and-white kerchief and her makeup had been applied hastily. She wore a simple blue and white plaid maternity dress with a neat red bow at her cleavage over her heavily pregnant stomach.

"Bucky, it's so good to see you. Won't you come in?" Her voice with which she greeted Bucky was as clipped and professional as ever.

She stepped to one side of the door to authorize his entrance. Before Bucky could fully take in the sights of Peggy's refined home from his position in the foyer, two children—a boy and a girl—bounded down the winding wooden stairs behind her yelling, "Daddy!"

Bucky's eyes widened and he defensively held out his hands. "WHOA! I am _not_ your dad!"

The children stopped behind their mother and grinned cheekily at him. Neither of them seemed old enough for school. The boy was skinny with his mother's rich brown eyes and enigmatic smile. His complexion, jawline, and hair color must have been his father's gifts. The girl was a paler version of her mother but her eyes were crystal blue and her longish nose was a far cry from Peggy's delicate one. "Who are you?" the boy demanded.

"Roger, that is _not_ the way you speak to adults or to guests! This man is both!" Peggy snatched the boy's right hand and smacked him on the back of it. "What do you say to him?"

The contrite boy gazed at the carpeted floor. "I'm sorry for being rude, sir."

Bucky doffed his bowler cap. _'I wish I had this kid's manners growing up.'_ "I'm sorry that I walked into your house with my hat on, kid. I guess neither of us was perfect, huh?" He lightly cuffed the blond boy on his left shoulder. The kid was surprisingly sturdy.

The American turned to the girl. "What is your name?"

"Catherine," she replied shyly.

"It's nice to meet you, Catherine and Roger. I'm Captain Bucky Barnes of the United States Army."

"Bucky? That's a silly name," the girl giggled.

Peggy shot the girl a scolding look, but Bucky laughed. _'She's got the same bluntness as her mom.' _"It's short for my middle name, Buchanan."

"I like that better." The girl beamed at him.

Without taking her eyes off Bucky, Peggy waved off the children. "Go back upstairs and play. Your father will be home shortly and then we will have supper."

Bucky watched the children scamper upstairs. "What did I do?" he asked.

"It is afternoon tea time," Peggy replied with a deceptive but ineffective smile. "Let's talk in the parlor."

Peggy led the way into a gracefully decorated drawing room. White shag carpet cushioned each step of their feet. A glass-and-mahogany cabinet of fragile looking miniature curios lined the wall opposite the entryway. Beneath the bay window looking upon the placid, late afternoon street, there rested a white chaise longue with gold accents. Three ornately and comfortable-looking arsenic green armchairs were arranged in worshipful rapture before the chaise longue. Behind the armchairs, an ebony baby grand piano awaited a pair of skilled hands.

"This is a nice place you've got here, Major Carter! The Brits pay nicely, don't they?" Bucky remarked as he gazed upon the room.

"Actually, I inherited this home from my father. He was a very wealthy man; in fact, he was a Member of Parliament's House of Lords."

Bucky gaped at her. Even if he didn't know much about Britain's government, it seemed to be a big deal to be a Member of Parliament. "How did he take you going into the army?"

"He didn't. He died before I enlisted. And I'm Mrs. Thomas now, Bucky." She gestured subtly to the armchairs. "Please have a seat, Bucky."

Bucky sat in the central chair, and Peggy rested delicately directly across from him on the chaise. Her lips pursed uncomfortably. Bucky felt compelled to continue the conversation. "When did you marry their father? Steve would have told me if you had little rascals when you two were flirting."

"I married General Thomas five years ago, just before the end of the war. He was a kind man, and most of Britain was caught up in the marital wave, just like we were caught up in patriotism before that."

"He was a smart man. I guess Steve wasn't good enough for you?" Bucky didn't attempt to conceal the resentment in his voice.

"General Thomas was kind enough to marry a single, pregnant woman before my reputation could be damaged."

"What does that mean? Just spit it out, Peggy."

Peggy rose nervously to her feet. "Do you want a drink or any other refreshment? I just started a roast for supper, if you plan to stay that long."

"I doubt it, but I probably could." Bucky clutched his head in his large hands. "Honestly, I don't know where I'll be after you and I talk. I didn't exactly make reservations at the Ritz." He chuckled in a failed attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

"Bucky…you vanished six years ago, just before the Allies won the war."

"Good news too, or else we'd all be speaking German."

"I'm serious, Bucky."

"So am I, Peggy. I figured out I disappeared when I went and bought clothes, and it was 1950 instead of 1944!"

Peggy sighed heavily. There was no way to empathize with his situation, so she plowed ahead. "Steve was very distraught. You were his best friend. He…he went to a bar to get drunk, but couldn't quite manage it." A wistful smile danced upon her lips. "He was practically immune to it."

"Did something….?"

Peggy motioned for his silence with one hand. She took two deep breaths and in a rush of words confessed, "Steve and I spent the night together, and I got pregnant, and Roger is his son."

Bucky gaped at her. "This is so unfair!"

"I know, Bucky, I…."

The American jumped to his feet and began to pace the area in front of his chair. "I'm six years too late to make any jokes about Steve's first time with a broad! No offense to you, Peggy, but I had saved up my jokes for a decade! These were some of my best one-liners!"

"None taken, Bucky. You're not…offended by it?"

Bucky waved her off. "Don't be ridiculous." He stopped pacing. "Wait, you said that your husband married you when you were single and pregnant? Did Steve know?"

"Steve…went missing over the North Atlantic shortly after that night." A paroxysm of turbulent, conflicting emotions seized Bucky's body. He sat heavily in his armchair, and Peggy continued.

"I-It was during a battle with the Red Skull. Schmidt was going to destroy every major city in the United States with bombs that used the same technology as his guns. Do you remember the guns?"

Bucky recalled the double-barreled gun blast aboard a speeding train that almost had derailed his life and nodded gravely. "I'm guessing that as soon as Steve found out, he went to fight the big bully." _'And I wasn't there to save him, for once.' _

"Steve stopped Schmidt, but something went wrong. He had to crash the plane."

Bucky wrestled with tears that threatened to squeeze through his eyes. "He's…Steve's…dead?"

"I-I don't believe so, Bucky. But the Americans and the British search parties gave up the search shortly after the war. Not even Howard can convince them to maintain the search. They're too concerned with rebuilding Europe and defending the world against the Communists."

"So…Steve is missing, maybe alive, and no one wants to go find him?"

"Yes, that is the short of it, Bucky. I hope so."

"You hope so? You hope so?" Bucky roared as rage replaced guilt and grief. The British woman's jaw clenched as he hovered over her. "My best friend went missing in a plane trying to save the free world, and all you've done to help him was….Well, you didn't do anything to help him, did you? You hopped into marriage with the good General to save your reputation, didn't you?" His hands balled into fists at his side. "And now you hope he's still alive? How dare you say that you bitch?"

"I-I think…you should leave, Bucky." He started to advance toward her, and heard the metallic click of a gun hammer. Bucky looked down. Peggy held a silver pistol hardly larger than her hand aimed at his chest. "I refuse to be attacked in my own home with my children upstairs by the monster you've become, Bucky."

"What do you-?" Peggy motioned with her gun to the reflective glass of the curio cabinet, and Bucky studied his reflection.

He hadn't realized how tall he had become or how powerful he looked. Even when the clothier had measured his limbs, nothing had seemed genuinely different from normal. Bucky had not peaked at 4'8" like Steve in their graduating year of secondary school. Whatever had brought about his physical change had added almost a foot to his frame and at least thirty solid pounds of muscle.

It also affected his behavior. That much was evident from the distorted veins popping through the skin of his forehead and neck. Bucky looked inhumanly monstrous with his ruddy skin, even if it was nowhere near the complexion of the Red Skull. "What happened to me?"

"Mommy?" Bucky and Peggy both turned to the stairs as the children's small feet thumped out a descending rhythm. Clutching his face in his huge hands, he ran from Peggy's home. Once again, the American didn't know where he was going. Bucky was determined to run until he felt the bumps and ridges of his veins subside beneath his skin.

He didn't notice the large gray van that pulled into the street behind him. It steadily followed Bucky as he ran for a little over two miles and came to a stop near one of the Kensington District shops. When he stopped, two towering beefy blonds exited the rear doors of the truck. They were dressed in jumpsuits identical to Bucky's, and their longish faces were set with a singleness of purpose.

As Bucky regained his breath, he studied his hands. The veins had subsided, but his skin remained a sanguine red. _'What is happening to me? First there was the cab driver, now Peggy. Every time I get angry, it's like….'_

His thoughts were interrupted by a piercing jab in his back. As Bucky tried to turn and stand for a fight, everything went black and he collapsed into the darkness.


	4. How to Lose a Memory in Just 10 Days

**Author's Note: To everyone who has been reading this story, you guys have made my jaw drop! I won't say how many people have read so far, but it's a lot more than my first two stories got off their first three chapters. And I'm very grateful to macariadaughterofhades for her very helpful reviews. If not for your reviews, I would be unaware of my numerous inaccuracies. **

**Also, I have a great plan for using Natasha toward the end of this story! I have the ****_Captain America: The First Avenger _****DVD at home but until last night, I was too lazy to watch it. I apologize to everyone for that. I can't wait for the sequel to come out, which I think is later this year. **

**Please continue to write reviews and to add followings. This story will be divided into four main narratives: Bucky's life, Peggy's life, Gabe's life, and Steve's life. **

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**How To Lose a Memory in Just 10 Days**

Bucky opened his cobalt blue eyes and panicked immediately. He was embraced by light so brilliantly incandescent that Bucky was almost blinded. The newly revived soldier shut his eyes against the light. "Where am I? Am I dead? Is this Heaven? If it is, I just disappointed my neighbors and folks!"

He tried to sit up and found his wrists were bound to the flat surface beneath him. A man's voice boomed in a thick Slavic-born accent, "You are not dead yet, Captain Barnes. But soon, you will be. We will make you as comfortable as possible until that time."

The lights around Bucky dimmed, but the announcement of his imminent death rendered the soldier far from comfortable. "NO! Let me out of here! Let me go!" Bucky wrestled against the ice cold metal cuffs that restrained him and suddenly realized he was naked. Compared to the threat of death, what did a little nudity matter? But even for Bucky's newly developed muscles, ice cold steel was impossible to break.

Clipped footsteps approached Bucky's position and interrupted his concentration. Bucky immediately ceased struggling and regarded the person who emerged from the shadows around him.

His first thought was, _'Geez that guy has a big mustache!'_

That thought was followed by, _'He looks just like Clark Gable, but a few years older!'_

His next thought was, _'Clark Gable's about to kill me!'_

The man's blue eyes sparkled with malicious intent. His smile, which probably would have been charming, if not for his sinister bent, chilled Bucky's already cold spine. A crisp white lab coat concealed the Clark Gable-lookalike's lean body.

"You are the only one in the history of the program to ever escape, Captain Barnes. Did you know that?" His accent was thick with the inflection of a native Russian or German speaker.

"No, but feel free to pin a medal on my chest, no need to kill me."

Clark Gable's lookalike chuckled. "Is that how you proud Americans beg for mercy?"

"That's how I break the ice."

"I have laughed plenty, Captain Barnes. Soon, I'll have the fortune to laugh at your jokes no more."

Bucky watched with widened eyes as the man withdrew a syringe from his coat pocket and attached a wicked-looking needle to its end. "Whatever you're about to put in that thing, I hope it's going to help your sorry ass get off the ground when I pummel you."

The lookalike ignored him and removed a glass test tube filled with clear liquid from the other coat pocket. He inserted the needle through the cork stopper and drew the substance into the syringe. Rather than plead or risk another useless joke, Bucky renewed his struggle against his metal bonds. "When you are released from this table, American, Captain James Barnes will be no more."

Bucky gritted his teeth in a desperate effort to break free, but the metal didn't move or break. "There's no more fighting, Captain Barnes. The end of your life will be immediate. Perhaps," the Clark Gable lookalike rubbed Bucky's shoulder with an alcohol-soaked pad, "if this procedure is successful with you, we shall apply it to the entire project."

In one final, desperate measure, Bucky wailed, "NOOO!"

The cruel man jabbed him anyway and emptied the syringe into his corded shoulder muscle. His deltoid immediately went numb and was followed shortly by the head of his left arm and the left side of his neck. "No, please," Bucky rasped as the deadness spread down his arm, across his throat, and up his neck.

"Don't worry," the lookalike consoled as Bucky's left ear and left forearm went numb, "you won't feel anything from the drug taking effect." Other than the creeping sensation of his body's nerves losing communication, the sadistic man was right. He loomed over Bucky and studied as the American's jaw went slack from lacking of feeling. Bucky couldn't even grit his teeth or scream as the intoxicant crept past his hairline, seeped into his brain, and took possession.

At last, when he slipped into the dark void, Bucky's slide was without pain.

_'"Steve stopped Schmidt, but something went wrong. He had to crash the plane." _

_'"He's…Steve's…dead?"_

_'"Bucky!" Steve lunged across the fast-moving boxcar's metal floor. Bucky watched, wide-eyed and frightened, as Steve barely caught himself on the remaining wall of the train car. "Grab my hand!" _

_'Wind whipped Bucky's body against the blasted metal. The slim metal bar that slid the boxcar open or shut from the inside of the railcar was the only thing keeping Bucky from tumbling down the mountainside to a snow-covered valley nearly four hundred feet below. Despite the biting winds, the soldier maintained his desperate grip on the bar, but his fingers were going numb. "I can't hold on much longer!" _

_'"Just grab my hand!" Steve pled with him. _

_'Bucky inched closer to Steve's sinewy outstretched hand. The metal bar snapped free from the wall on the end closest to Steve. "Steve! Don't let me die, Steve!" _

_'"Come on, Bucky." _

_'Bucky inched closer to the loose end of the iron rail. He was close enough to see slightly pink hue of Steve's windbitten left hand. He lunged to grab it. _

_'The bar snapped completely. Bucky's hand missed Steve's by feet. The air was rent with Bucky's frightened hands.' _

_'"Did she take the locket?" Bucky demanded from Steve as he leaped from the corner of the central command building's weapons room. _

_'Steve jovially pushed his best friend back with a light hand and a chuckle. The blond was leaving another urgent meeting before Captain America's special squad attacked a Hydra base. "Bucky! What's wrong with you?" he yelped. "I almost brained you!" _

_'"Guess it's a good thing that I'm a lot faster than you are, Captain," Bucky laughed. _

_'"You know that's not much of an insult anymore. You're a captain now too, since I got your promotion pushed through." _

_'Bucky scowled. For only the second time in their friendship, he owed Steve something, and it was a discomforting feeling. Bucky had always been the stronger one, the bigger one, the rescuer. _

_'"So what do you want me to do? Should I thank you, now that you're Captain America, huh, Steve?" _

_'"I never said that, Bucky! What's gotten into you?" The blond stared at Bucky with so much hurt in his eyes that Bucky started to turn and walk off. But that made him feel cowardly. So he stopped to offer one more insult. _

_'"This isn't about what's gotten into me. It's about what's gotten into you." _

_'Bucky stormed away. With his usual persistence, Steve caught him and forced Bucky to face him. "She took the locket and called it 'fair exchange.' I don't know what that means, Bucky." _

_'"I'll tell you in the mess tent if you tell me how I can get big and strong like you one day," Bucky chuckled. With the status quo of their friendship restored, their friendship would obviously survive.' _

_'"Steve! Steve! STEVE!" Even with the firm hand clasped over his mouth, it was unmistakable for whom Bucky called in the relative isolation of the men's bathroom. _

_'The hand pulled away from Bucky, and its owner wiped it free of saliva on the standard issue uniform he wore. "I'm getting tired of having to cover your mouth every time we do this," he hissed. _

_'"I don't do it every time," Bucky objected. He wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow and sat upright on the toilet. _

_'"You do it every time." The other soldier fastened and straightened his uniform faster than Bucky. _

_'"Sorry," Bucky whispered. He pulled up his fatigue pants. _

_'"No, you're not. You're not the only guy that comes in here. When the other guys handle it by themselves, they at least have the decency to call a broad's name. When it's another guy, it's kind of insulting." _

_'"I thought you might at least feel complimented by it. How many guys can say they get compared to America's golden boy?" Bucky poured his winning smile atop his joke. _

_'"You're not calling for the Captain. You're calling for Steve." He went to the latrine and began to wash his hands. It was just after two a.m., so the sound of the trickling hose striking metal cut through the night like a knife. Bucky slunk shamefully up to the other man. _

_'"Again, I'm sorry." _

_'Gabe Jones shook his head as he walked out the latrine. "No, you aren't. You're in love."' _

_'Torture had sent Bucky into a near catatonic state. Steve's voice came to him from far on the other side of sanity. Perhaps he had already died. "S-Steve?" _

_'Steve loomed over him in costume fatigues, a metal helmet that didn't look like standard issue, and some large metal shield. "It's me, Bucky. I thought you were dead." _

_'Bucky's eyes grazed Steve's once lanky, diminutive frame. "I thought you were smaller."' _

_'It was the second week of high school, and already the name of James Buchanan Barnes was known throughout the school. He was the dashing brunet from Brooklyn with the charming smile, well-proportioned frame, and the confident stride that had more than a few of the girls grinning at him. Bucky hadn't yet developed the persona to match the nickname he would adopt later, but he also hadn't had U.S. History with the one teacher who marveled at a student with the name of the fifteenth president. _

_'As he strode down the hallway from first period to second period, Bucky brushed back his chocolate colored locks and flashed his smile at Betsy Harris. Petite, red-haired, and stacked with breasts to make a pin-up girl jealous, Betsy Harris was a junior. But Bucky always did like older women._

_'A panicked yell rang through the corridor. Several students turned in its direction. Bucky interrupted his flirtation with Betsy and glanced down the hall as well. _

_'A squirming blond kid kicked and clawed in the arms of two heavily muscled football players, still dressed in their practice uniforms. The kid couldn't be more than eight or nine years old, but somehow, he had made his way onto the high school campus. For his presumption, the football players clearly intended to carry the kid into the dumpsters behind the school. Bucky immediately recognized the indignity in progress and sprinted down the hall._

_'"Hey!" he called in an authoritative voice. "Put that kid down!"_

_'The football players were a half-foot taller than Bucky with rippling muscles and broad-shoulders to boot. One was hard-faced lean blond with a cleft chin. The other was sandy-haired with distinctive green eyes, a portly stomach, and a murderous scowl on his face. Both glared at Bucky as he ran up to them. "What did you say to us, short stack?"_

_'"I said," Bucky slammed his fist into the sandy-haired boy's fat gut, "leave the kid alone!"_

_'The other blond dropped the kid and approached Bucky with a growl on his face. Bucky responded by punching him in the face with his right, followed by a left jab, and another right hook in the jaw. Boxing lessons at the gym up the street from his house in Brooklyn had paid in full. As the bigger boy toppled to the floor, Bucky kicked his groaning friend. "Get out of here, both of you," he scowled repugnantly. _

_'The blonds ran off, hoping to find more vulnerable targets. Bucky knelt down and helped the blond kid to his feet. "Hey, are you alright kid?" _

_'"Yeah, except for the blood on my face and the second broken nose I've had this year." The kid wiped his face with the back of his hand. "Thanks for your help. I had it under control though." _

_'Bucky pulled out a handkerchief his mother packed for him to keep his face clean, and handed it to the kid. "If that's what under control looks like, I'd hate to see when things get out of hand." He kept his hand held out. "I'm James Barnes." _

_'The kid's face stained the handkerchief a brilliant shade of red. At the sight of his own blood, Bucky noticed the kid's eyes losing focus and a rasping wheeze in his breath. "I'm Steve Rogers." _

_'"Kid, you don't sound so good. Are you alright?" _

_'"I have asthma, heart palpitations, dizziness, fatigue, and I'm underweight. I'm never alright." _

_'Bucky didn't know what palpitations or fatigue were, but neither sounded good. "What are you doing here, kid? Are you lost?" _

_'"No, I go to school here. I'm a freshman." Bucky noticed Steve's cracking voice, but still shook his head in disbelief. _

_'"Kid, you've got to be eight years old. This is high school." _

_'"I'm fourteen actually. I'm just small for my age."'_


	5. In the Dead of Winter

**Author's Note: I apologize to anyone who has been following this story and had to go without an update for the last three weeks. The last chapter didn't get any reviews or gain any other stats, and without that extra motivation from you all, I couldn't get the plot to move forward. Literally, I stared at what I was writing for the last three weeks and said Um. Finally I decided I would keep this plot moving forward anyway. Thanks to macariadaughterofhades for the latest review. **

**Please review and let me know what you think so far.**

* * *

**In the Dead of Winter**

**Days Later…**

"What is your name?" the commanding officer demanded in clipped Russian. He was an impatient man; it was obvious from one look at his grizzled face. Even if the recruits never exchanged words with each other, they knew his character.

"I…I can't remember," replied the broad-shouldered, blond recruit. He stood nearly seven feet tall with a thick neck and sanguine, corded arms that looked as though he had been born to haul cars with his bare hands.

The commanding officer's baton whipped out. A blow across the blond's knees crippled him. The blow to his stomach forced the blond to all fours, like an animal. And the final blow, carefully placed to the back of the blond man's neck, just below its jointure to his skull, cracked something. The blond lay motionlessly in the snow.

"You are a failure." The commanding officer, Sergei Nurkeyev, spat onto the blond's corpse. He was so renowned in the Russian military for his aggressive nature, he was known as the Grey Wolf. He was rumored to have survived the Battle of Leningrad with only a rifle and a dagger against a battalion of Nazi soldiers. The Grey Wolf was diminutive compared to his recruits, but his aggression was renowned. "I do not tolerate failures in my unit."

He moved down the line of tall, strapping, naked men. The doctors who conducted the experiment promised that each super soldier had no memory of his former life. With their regenerative abilities and aggression increased a hundredfold by the serum, each one was as capable of athletic feats as fifteen lesser men. Any other commander would have accepted their knowledge as trustworthy and welcomed the command of such soldiers.

But he was the Grey Wolf, scourge of battles on Prussia's western front, the suppressor of rebellions in East Germany and the Ukraine, and one of the best military commanders Stalin had alive and not in some forlorn prison. The Grey Wolf could sniff out a lie with ruthless ease. So he had the one hundred men to execute a battery of exercises in the Siberian winter, stripped to total nudity, to test their ability to deal with extremes of temperature, on a course twenty-six miles long.

They had passed all these physical tests, naked and unfazed by the cold. Even the Grey Wolf had bundled in seal furs. After they passed his physical demands, Grey Wolf was determined to test their mental abilities as well.

98 recruits had passed. Number 99, one of the longest included in the program, had not.

Now, as the Americans would say, the one hundredth was going to have his day.

Compared to the other 98 recruits, the hundredth was a dwarf. Grey Wolf knew from experience that taller men commanded respect. Shorter men had to earn it. "What is your name?"

"I do not have one," came the reply in fluent Russian.

The Grey Wolf was impressed. He had memorized the personal files and facts of each recruit. This one was supposed to be an American, yet he had adopted Russian in the few days of language education given to each super soldier. But the recruit did not have Grey Wolf's respect.

"You have been with the program for some time now, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you recall your last mission?"

The soldier showed no emotion in his response. "Yes, sir, I failed to eliminate the target."

"And then you escaped the program. You violated your training." Because of the super soldier standing before Grey Wolf, the one flaw of the experiment was exposed: The brainwashed human killing machines could recover their memories, which had resulted in the program's brief hiatus. The American didn't even blink as Grey Wolf peered into his face.

"What is your name?" Grey Wolf repeated in English.

The soldier did not respond. Memory replacement was supposed to guarantee the American's inability to retain his birth language. "What is your name?" Grey Wolf demanded aggressively but still in English. But the American gave no sign of understanding. The commander backed away.

"I think you are ready for field exercises, those of you who have passed." The Grey Wolf glared disdainfully at the body of Number 99, bathed in red snow. "Soldiers, follow me back to the base!"

The Grey Wolf climbed into the open air jeep parked less than twenty feet off. The super soldiers lined up behind the jeep in two columns and waited until he pulled off before they began to jog behind him. He gave the company a single backward glance before he accelerated to 50 mph. Without hesitation, the soldiers began to run more diligently.

* * *

"What do you mean, there's no sign of him?"

Peggy narrowed her eyes at the eggshell-white man seated in front of her. Most British women would have kowtowed before an officer of the British Royal Air Force with as many decorations and commendations as General Brandon Smyth. As he would have outranked Peggy, if she were still in the Army, she should have submitted to his superior rank. But when subjected to Peggy's terribly wrathful gaze, he visibly trembled and deferred to her.

"M-Mrs. Thomas, we've committed as many resources to finding your American as we can. We even have two intelligence officers committed to the task. But there are simply no other words for it. Captain Barnes disappeared from human sight immediately after departing your residence."

Peggy exhaled slowly. _'I need to be calm for the baby.'_ When her heartbeat no longer thundered in her ears, Peggy sliced the general into ribbons with her cold, lovely eyes. He was from the generation that had fought in the gruesome combat of World War I but winced at the blatant intent behind Adolf Hitler's land acquisitions preceding World War II. _'Men like him sent my father to an early grave with their unwillingness to do what was right in favor of what was is prudent. They won't take me and my child as well.'_

"Thank you for your time, General Smyth. If there is nothing else, my husband will see you to the door."

General Harry Thomas was immediately on his feet. It was what Peggy admired about her husband, his obsequious devotion to doing whatever was moral. A towering, lean man with more muscle than most men in their early 40s, General Thomas was easily a singularly attractive man. His golden blond hair had once been cropped during his years of military service, but since his promotion to general, it lay across his pate in luxurious waves. It had begun finally to gray, to General Thomas' relief, but his crystal blue eyes required reading glasses, which he found to be a nuisance. A longish nose protruded from his sharp, hawk-like face, and coupled with his ascot, white khakis, and brown leather Oxfords, gave Harry a very academic appearance.

It was understood in their marriage that, although Harry was not an undesired man, neither money nor looks had captivated Peggy. But she had never wavered in her fidelity to him. His loyalty had earned hers.

"It was an honor to have you in our home, General Smyth." Harry extended his hand to shake the lower-ranked general's. General Smyth was older than he by more than a decade and so withered in his uniform that he seemed to be an elderly child in the cotton, too small for the decorations on his chest. "Perhaps we can get together for a game of cricket sometime, eh?"

Harry guided the elder man to the foyer. "Cricket is a young man's game, Thomas. If you wish to indulge in recreational exercise with me, a light game of golf is more to my taste. Some thanks ought to be given to the Scots for bringing it with them."

Harry chuckled and opened the front door. In the drawing room, Peggy's face surrendered to a lugubrious expression. She ignored the polite exchange of words between the generals and opened the locket around her neck. It was a delicate gold heart on a fine thread of 22-karat gold. When she opened the heart, Steve smiled shyly back at her, posing in such a way that clearly conveyed his discomfort at posing for the camera.

The closing of the door retrieved Peggy from her reverie. She slipped the locket beneath the collar of her dress just as Harry entered the drawing room. He stopped in the doorway and stared at Peggy's sorrowful expression. "Are you well, Peggy?"

"Quite the opposite, Harry." A sob escaped its confines in her chest. "I failed him again, so I'm all ludicrous and emotional."

"Are you referring to Steve or Captain Barnes?"

"I failed them both when they needed me."

Harry came to her side and wrapped his sinewy arms around her shoulders. Peggy welcomed the kiss he placed on her forehead, the way she would have accepted a kiss from her father. "I don't know if it's fair of you to lay so much blame upon yourself, Peggy. What more could you have done for either of them?"

_'Even after six years of marriage, the idiot still doesn't understand me.'_ "Harry, nobody in Britain looks back on the war and says, 'We did the best we could.' We look back and say, 'What more could we have done to prevent it?'"

"Is that how you think about your friends?"

Peggy replied "Yes," but she wanted to say, "Steve was far more than a friend."


End file.
